


This is Hard

by MamaWithGloriousPurpose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Fluff and Crack, I'll add more tags if I ever write more, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Sam is a good noodle, Self Confidence Issues, cas is smooth af, text conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:41:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaWithGloriousPurpose/pseuds/MamaWithGloriousPurpose
Summary: Inspired by an OTPQuestions post on Twitter. Dean wants to jump the new neighbor, but he's lost confidence in himself. So obviously the blue eyed hot menace needs to die





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this post: https://twitter.com/otpquestions/status/770073868300128256
> 
> I wrote it instead of sleeping or working on fics I already started. I may write more, I don't know yet. Anyway, all texts are written in [brackets], texts received are written in bold.

It had been nine days since the new guy on the street moved in. Dean knows this because the moving truck had definitely made its appearance on a Thursday (Doctor Sexy night), and this was the second Saturday in a row Dean has had to avert his eyes from the guy’s sweaty body during his ritualistic pre-run lunges. They had to be part of some kind of ritual, right? Because those thighs were crafted by the devil himself. And who runs this early on a weekend? The guy had to be in a cult. Dean was only up with the sun on Saturdays because he has to be to work at 8. Tuesdays through Fridays he doesn't head in until 10. But Sundays and Mondays are his days off, and he doesn't see the sun - or proper pants - until afternoon.

Dean drove down his street pointedly not looking at the messy haired man in the black gym shorts and the blue nylon shirt that was so snug Dean’s not sure it was legal. In fact, Dean was focusing so intently on looking away from the aesthetically pleasing man, that he almost ran over Mrs. Dorothy from the corner house as she crossed the street. Dean hit the brakes and jumped from his seat to make sure he hadn't inadvertently given the nice lady a heart attack. She just laughed and batted him away, insisting she was fine and that maybe Dean should ‘fret over himself for once.’ Something about Dean being ‘stressed’ and it affecting his reaction time or focus “or maybe even your eyesight, you can never tell with these things dear.” When she started asking Dean about his free time and ‘finding someone nice’ to share it with, it was Dean’s turn to bat Dorothy away. By the time the whole ordeal was finished, Dean had forgotten all about the new hottie with the athletic figure and the sex hair. At least until he turned around. There were a few neighbors out busying themselves that morning, and more than one had stopped their chores to watch the spectacle. New guy was no exception. In fact, he looked particularly entertained. _Damn him and his annoyingly attractive and surprisingly smug face_. Dean definitely did not notice how shockingly blue his eyes were. And he absolutely did not smash two fingers and break a wrench at work while daydreaming about them.

Nope.

~*~

**[i have to kill him]**

Sam choked on his water when the text came through. He shouldn't let himself get roped it. It was Dean. Dean could be a bit...dramatic at times. Not in a bad way, of course. Just in a having-trouble-processing-all-the-sloppy-affection-he-feels-on-a-daily-basis kind of way. His brother was a soft marshmallow trapped in a grease monkey shell. It was endearing. And also a handful.

Sam sighed as he typed, [okay, I'll bite. Who are we killing?]

**[new neighbor]**

Sam eyed his brother's reply skeptically, [If we’re going to kill him, can you at least tell me why?]. Sam pocketed his phone and stuffed his laptop in its bag, shouldering it as he grabbed his trash from the table. He dropped it in the waste basket as he exited the cafe. His phone was buzzing with multiple replies before the door swung closed behind him.

**[hes hot]**

**[very hot]**

**[i know what you're thinking sammy but im not being dramatic here, he was clearly sent by satan himself]**

**[i don't have time for distractions]**

**[sam]**

**[sammy?]**

Sam laughed out loud as he read through Dean’s frustration, [I'm here, Dean. To be honest with you, I don't think this is the type of situation that calls for murder]

**[i have to kill him]**

**[idk how to hit on him so he has to die]**

The younger brother tapped out one more message before boarding the bus, [why don't you try talking to him? And don't tell me you ‘don't have time for distractions’ when you're clearly giving him your attention anyway. Talk to him.]

He waited the whole ride back to his apartment for Dean’s rebuttal. As he sat his belongings down on the shelf in his entryway, it finally came.

**[im gonna smack the smug right off his face]**

~*~

Dean had been home from work for two hours. The shop had closed up at 6, right on schedule. No backlogs, no delays. Dean was home by 6:30. Freshly showered and finishing a proper meal by 7:15. He'd sent his last text to his little brother during his lunchbreak at 1. Dean sat his phone on the arm of the sofa, staring at it and contemplating their conversation. It was too late now, right? 8:30. It had been dark for awhile. It wasn't the proper time to introduce yourself to a stranger, unless of course you're at a bar. You don't go knocking on the doors of people you've never spoken to at 8:30 at night, right?

But that's all Dean had been thinking about doing since he arrived home. And that's exactly what his body was doing, without his permission, much to the disappointment and protest of his mind. And his stomach. He was about to turn tail and run, his gray house slippers absorbing the steps of embarrassment for him, when he heard the deadbolt turn over.

Dean looked down and gave himself the once over. He was confident the plaid pajama bottoms and white tee would give off a non-threatening vibe. In Dean’s opinion, he looked downright cuddly. _Did he want to look cuddly though_? At least his bathrobe matched his slippers. He's not sure how he missed the door opening. But when Dean was done checking himself out, he looked back up to find blue eyes filled with amusement, zeroing in on his panicked green ones.

“Hey, huuuuh, umm,” Dean just stood there, mind suddenly abandoning him in its disappointment. He felt his stomach do a flip that felt something like I-told-you-so. _Oh boy, was this a bad idea_.

“Castiel.” The man extended his hand.

“Come again?” Dean’s brow furrowed.

“My name,” the man continued, “my name is Castiel.” He stuck his hand out a bit further for emphasis.

_Oh_. “Oh,” Dean finally caught up. “I'm Dean.” He grasped Castiel’s hand firmly, giving it a polite shake.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted. The man’s thumb rubbing a slow circle on the back of Dean’s hand had Dean recoiling, almost tripping backward off the short step he was standing on. “Are you alright? My apologies I didn't mean t-”

“No. Nope,” Dean protested too eagerly. “Don't apologize. You're perfect. Good, dammit,” Dean cringed as he regain his footing. “I mean, you're good. Fuck me, this is hard.”

The man at the door didn't even try to conceal how entertaining he found his neighbor to be. Dean swallowed his fear. “Can we,” he scratched a thumbnail at his forehead, “can we try that again?” He stuck his hand out. “Name’s Dean. I was just coming by to, uh, welcome you to the neighborhood.”

Castiel gripped Dean’s hand, sliding his palm thoughtfully across Dean’s clammy palm. “Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel. And that's very kind of you.”

Their handshake lasted a beat or two beyond social normalities, neither man wanting to be the one to break it, or their eye contact for that matter. Castiel looked away first, glancing down at their hands. He took Dean’s hand out of their shake with his left hand, holding it with Dean’s palm facing up. He pulled a pen out of his back pocket with the hand he had been shaking with. “May I?” Dean nodded. When Castiel was through writing, he hesitantly released Dean’s hand. “Use it, please,” he said with a wink. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean stuttered, still processing what just happened. The door clicked closed. “Night, Cas.”

~*~

**[fuck]**

Sam blinked a few times at the four letter word lighting up his screen in the dark room. He swatted blindly for the lamp on the nightstand, clicking the switch relatively easily. [Eloquent. Are we hiding a body then?] Sam grinned as soon as the picture message reply loaded. It was a hand, presumably Dean’s, with a series of digits scrawled across it. He smiled, Sam was genuinely happy for his brother. Dean needed a win. Not that he'd let him know that. [Congratulations. Tell “Cas” I said hello. Now let me sleep] Sam clicked the light back off, rolling over and pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. He ignored the phone as it vibrated repeatedly on the side table. Sam fell asleep smiling.

**[will do sammy]**

**[did I mention he was hot because he's smokin]**

**[should I text him tomorrow or should I call]**

**[idk what im doing man, it's been a long time]**

**[help me]**

**[dammit sammy]**

**[fine whatever, night bitch]**

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, idk, I think Dean needs to close this deal. I'll probably write a follow up.


End file.
